Letter to a Friend
by cellochick373
Summary: Deals with the aftermath of a sexual assault, and sort of hints at suicide.  Assume established Faberry friendship, takes place in college.  Also: TRIGGERS TRIGGERS TRIGGERS, I can't emphasize that enough.


A/N: Lots of triggers. Like hardcore. And angst...so...you've been warned! Also, this has been published over at LJ already, but I figured I would drop it over here too since not everyone makes it over there!

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><p><em>Dear Rachel,<em>

I dreamed of him again last night, the man with no face, the man with the knife. I don't think he actually had a knife, but...it just makes it easier to deal with. Like maybe...maybe I wouldn't have been able to stop him even if I had been conscious.

Sometimes when I'm alone I can feel him on top of me, I can smell him around me. He's heavy, the weight pressing down on top of me, and I want more than anything to move my arms and shove him off, but I can't. I wake up tangled in the sheets, my arms pinned to my sides, and I just feel like sobbing.

He's not even here, it's not even happening, and I still can't make it stop.

I wake up, and I untangle myself from the sheets, but even when I can move again, that _smell _just lingers around me. It's...god, I don't even know how to describe it. Like a mix of cigarettes and cologne and sweat and musk. Maybe a little like something that's been dead for too long, and just ended up rotting away little by little.

But even with the feel and the smell all around me, I still can't see him. He stands over me just out of vision, like a shadow. That drives me crazy more than anything. Even in my dreams, _my _dreams, he still manages to elude me. It's like I can see bits and pieces, shadowy parts of his face, but never anything definitive.

He had short hair, but the color? I have no idea.

He hadn't shaved in at least a couple days, because there's this shadow on the lower part of his face- not a full blown beard, but it's there. I sometimes dream about the scratch of the stubble against the skin of my cheek, and my neck, and the light itching burn as he moved lower.

I can almost see his face, the little details and how they come together to form the larger picture, but every time I feel like I might finally be getting somewhere, the mental image just slips away into nothingness.

It's just...he's there, but _not_, and it's disorienting and frustrating and it drives me out of my mind trying to remember something about him.

I remember I was studying late that night. I wanted to get everything done before I went back to Lima for the weekend. I was going to see Beth, and I didn't want to have to worry about homework or trying to throw together an essay when I got back.

Now I wonder if I hadn't have pushed so hard, if school hadn't been so important... maybe it would have never happened.

My roommate went out for the night- you remember Danielle, right? Brunette, gorgeous, and out to prove that just because she wasn't blonde it didn't mean she couldn't party with the best of them. She said she couldn't study for another second, threw on some sequined top and leggings, grabbed her heels from under the bed and was out the door.

She used to try to get me to come with her, something about how I was going to miss out on the best part of college because I was too busy studying, but after a while I think she just gave up. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if she had asked me that night.

Sure, I know in the back of my mind that I would have politely declined, but there's still a tiny bit of resentment there.

If she had been there, maybe things would have been different.

If _I_ hadn't been there, things _definitely _would have been different.

But I needed those good grades, for my scholarship. I had to succeed. But.. I'd been studying for _so long_ and I just wanted to take a little break. I left my ethnic studies book open on my bed and went out into the hall to see if I could find something to keep me distracted for a while.

There were some guys watching a movie down the hall. I don't really remember what it was...some ridiculous horror movie with gratuitous violence and sex galore. I think I might have smiled a little thinking about you and your rants about the objectification of women in the horror film industry and how horribly predictable and unoriginal the plots were.

They asked me to sit with them, and I thought it would be okay for a little while. I really needed a break, and they were there...we'd talked a few times, and we weren't best buds or anything, but I knew them...or at least it thought I knew them. One of them, I don't remember who, offered me a coke. I was thirsty and it seemed harmless enough. I think I might have been a little impressed that they weren't even trying to get me drunk.

When I woke up the next morning I was in my room, naked. You know that feeling that you get when you're completely naked? That vulnerable, exposed feeling? It caught me off guard.

I was so groggy and I just felt so sick, and I didn't even really process what it meant that I was naked in my bed with no memory of how I got there. My legs were tangled in the rumpled comforter, and I pulled it up around my body to try to ward off the chill. I think that's when it first hit me, that something bad had happened to me.

My stomach was cramping, and I could hardly see straight because my head hurt so much. The worst part, though was the taste in my mouth. It was dry and a little salty, pretty hard to mistake, and in that moment my brain started to sort of understand what had happened to me.

I remember the wave of nausea that hit me, but I couldn't even get up to run to the bathroom because everything hurt too much. I just turned over and threw up all over the floor and I couldn't even bring myself to care. I saw my clothes scattered across the floor, but what really stuck with me was the sight of my ethnic studies book laying on the floor. The page it was open to was torn, and for some reason seeing my book there, open and broken on the floor...it was too much. I just felt so sick, and looking at the book was like looking in a mirror. How pathetic is that? To see yourself reflected in the torn pages of a book?

I wished for someone to find me, to help me. It could have been my room mate, or someone stopping by to say hello- just as long as _someone_ cared enough to help. I wanted to call you, Rach, I did, but I didn't know where my phone was and honestly? I didn't want you to see me like that.

After a few hours, I sort of remember forcing myself to move. Nobody was coming, and I desperately wanted to shower and try to get _that smell _off of me, to brush my teeth so I could taste something other than that.

When everything was cleaned up, I curled up in my bed facing the wall, just trying to count the holes in it from tacks and nails to distract myself. Eventually I guess I fell asleep...that's the first night I had the dream.

I was in class the other day and this woman came in to talk about sexual assault…Suddenly I couldn't breathe, my chest was tight and it felt like I was gasping for every breath. I felt like I was about to pass out and all of a sudden I could hear someone breathing – breathing loudly – and it was like I could feel the hot breath hitting the back of my neck. Their breath smelled like cigarettes, and _that smell_ was all around me again.

I could feel someone touching me – on my arms and legs and neck…It was like they were there, and I was so afraid, and in my mind I was screaming for all of the people around me to notice him hurting me and to do something to stop him. When I looked around, though, nobody was really even paying attention, but what really freaked me out? Was that nobody was even close to me.

How could I let something like this happen? I mean, everyone knows about date rape, and not to take drinks from strangers...but they weren't strangers! How was I supposed to know that they would do something like that? They were on my hall, and it was just a coke...

I think I'm going crazy sometimes. I live in constant fear. I can't go outside my room because I'm scared of running into him, but I don't even know who he is! I have to keep all of my windows and doors closed and locked in case he tries to break in, but I could open the door and see him standing there and not have a clue. I won't answer my phone – it might be him calling. But even if it was, how would I know?

I see those guys around all of the time. They wink and smile and ask me to go out with them. I feel so sick whenever I see them, because one of them knows - ONE of them knows what happened – and I can't remember who he is! Maybe he's laughing at me – God, why can't I remember – if he did something to me? I mean, I know he did something to me, but I don't really even know what happened. That feeling, of not knowing what your own body has been through...it scares me, Rach.

I just wish I could remember. I don't know what to do anymore.

I can't remember who I was before all of this happened.

I don't know how to survive.

If you're still reading this, Rachel, then thanks. You've always been an amazing friend, and I don't want you to beat yourself up over this. I was the only one who could have helped myself, but now I can't even remember what his face looked like.

I guess...just be careful, Rach. I don't want you to ever feel like this, okay? And I wish I could always be around to protect you and keep you safe, but that's not possible. So just use my story to try to keep yourself safe when I can't, okay?

I love you, Rachel. Please be safe.

_Love always,_

_~Quinn_


End file.
